


Anchor

by annavale23



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annavale23/pseuds/annavale23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Never turn your back on your enemy. You taught me that." Those words haunt Grant Ward's every moment, ever since the love of his life shot him.<br/>Ever since the events of San Juan, Grant and Agent 33 are on the run, avoiding HYDRA and SHIELD alike. Agent 33 is broken, and is trying to survive after Whitehall's brainwashing & Grant's trying to put any emotion he felt for Skye away. But when she comes searching for him for help, will he be able to deny her?<br/>(Ward/Kara brotp, Skyeward romance). Speculation after 2x10. Please R&R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody! This is a speculation fan fiction taking place after 2x10 of AoS, and it's also cross posted on fanfiction.net under the same user name [annavale23], and the same story name.  
> Anyway, enjoy and please leave a comment!

_**Grant** _

We drive out into the mountains, her at the wheel, me in the passenger seat. I press a hand to my chest gently, grimacing as I shift slightly, my wounds protesting. I'm in no condition to drive, not since she shot me.

Skye.

She shot me, just as I taught her. But I had to hand it to her, shooting me so mercilessly...I almost saw a piece of _me_ in her. (But it was all wrong on her, the once gentle hacker girl). But enough about her. I'm not going to waste my time thinking about her anymore. Skye showed me quite brutally where her loyalties lay. And they were definitely not with me. (The bullets currently lodged in my chest showed that).

"Stop thinking about her, Agent Ward." Her voice is soft, tinged with an electric static. I glance at my travel companion, Agent 33, the May look alike. She sits in the driver seat, her scarred face strangely not terrifying. Maybe because I've seen worse things. Or maybe because I am a worse thing.

"How could you tell?" I ask her, my chest hurting. Getting shot hurts like a bitch, but getting shot by the girl you love hurts worse. Because that shows you that she really, really didn't love you back.

"She _shot_ you, Ward. So stop this silly delusion of loving her, and concentrate on surviving." 33 replies, choosing not to reply to my previous comment.

"Sure, 'cause it's that easy." I mutter sarcastically, but she ignores me, her fingers gripping the wheel tightly until her knuckles turn white from the strain. I don't even know who this woman with Melinda May's face is. I don't even know her real name! When we were at S.H.I.E.L.D, I never met Agent 33, and while I was working for Whitehall, I never asked. Yet without her, I'll die. And she knows that without me, she'll have no purpose. Not now that her master, Daniel Whitehall, is dead. And she'll die without purpose. So I guess we're in an agreement of convenience. I close my eyes, trying to push the pain down as Agent 33 keeps driving on into the mountains in hope of a safe place to stay.

________________________________________

* * *

 

"Stay still!" 33 commands as she lifts my shirt off over my head to check my wounds. I hiss in pain, but she ignores me, balling my shirt up and tossing it to one end of the bed. We found a decent sized abandoned cabin here in the mountain, and 33 decided that this would be the best place to stay until I'm better. (Although none of us have any idea of how long that might be. Neither of us have any medical training, except for the basics, really). 33 inspects my wounds before running into the bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth. She sits back down next to me, tying her hair up with a Hello Kitty decorated scrunchie we picked up in the Walmart we passed on our way here, along with some medical supplies, food and water. Luckily she had some cash on her, tucked away into the lining of her jacket.

"Now, I'm going to wash the bullet wounds, check if the bullets are still in there." She cautions. "It might hurt."

"I can deal with pain." I inform her, closing my eyes as she leans over me and tentatively starts to dab at the skin surrounding the four bullet shots, cleaning it up enough to see the actually wounds. It hurts, but I ignore the pain. Well, actually, I relish it. Somehow, it helps me to think clearly, maybe for the first time in years. It was so stupid of me to trust Skye. To think that she might actually love me back one day. Well, I'm done with her. I think, as 33 finishes up cleaning my wounds. I'm so done with her. She tilts me on my side to check on the back of my body, to see if Skye's bullets penetrated all the way through. I grimace in pain. She pushes me back down gently, and I swallow drily. 33 rubs her hands together. She swings one leg over my waist, sitting lightly on my stomach. I raise an eyebrow questioningly even as my shoulder burns.

"I have to get two of the bullets out." She explains. "The other two went all the way through. Okay?"

I nod, gritting my teeth, preparing for the pain that's sure to follow. Agent 33 doesn't hesitate, just leaning forward, her hair tips tickling me lightly, and shoving her index and middle fingers into my open wounds, digging away for the bullets lodged there. I try to ignore the squelching sound my raw flesh makes (this isn't the first time people have had to remove bullets from my body without being in a hospital or lab) as 33 pulls out the first bullet triumphantly, her fingers stained with blood. (My blood looks like anyone else's, I see. You can't tell I'm broken from my blood, it seems). She drops it down on to the bed grimly and prepares to extract the next one.

________________________________________

* * *

 

Two days later, and 33's helping me into my shirt, which she's rinsed out as best she could from all the blood. I wince slightly as I move my left shoulder, but I don't comment in it. Neither does 33. My wound is covered up with sterile wrappings, but my wound keeps bleeding through. Our solution? A lot more gauze.

"What do we do next?" She asks me, her voice ringing out with a metallic edge that grates on my ears. I stare at her incredulously. Is she asking me for orders? Then again, she did just lose the guy she was desperate to please, due to her brainwashing. Maybe she just wants someone, anyone, to save her. Just like I did after Garrett died. No one helped me. But maybe I can help her.

"First off, we need to get some supplies." I tell her, although I'm uncomfortable with the role I've been forced into. Who will give me my purpose? But I don't think about my own worries. _Compartmentalise, Ward._ I tell myself. _Concentrate on her. Not you._

"I've got some supply lockers still. All we need is a map."

"We've got one." 33 looks happy to reply, maybe relishing the lack of control she has over her own actions. "In the car."

"Okay." I nod, touching my chest subconsciously. The bullet wounds are still fresh, and I hiss slightly in pain as I press too hard. _Got to watch that, Ward._ "We'll coordinate our next moves around that. We'll be safe for a while, before Coulson tries to find us."

"He killed Whitehall." 33 mumbles. I make a note to avoid using Coulson's name, lest it be a trigger for her. I need 33 to be in control, because right now, I'm defenceless without her.

"Yeah." I acknowledge slowly. "But how about we stop thinking about those two, yeah?"

"Okay." 33 agrees. "Perhaps it would be better to stop thinking about them. If you agree to stop thinking about that girl." She pierced me with a look that reminds me of May. "Agreed." I hold out a hand for her to shake, which she does hesitantly. "We stop thinking about those three."

"I'll get the map." She skips out of the room, looking at peace now that she's got purpose. I stare after her, missing the days when I knew what to do. And if I didn't, I always knew that Garrett was just a phone call away. But then he turned legitimately insane. My loyalty once belonged to him. The man who claimed to give me a home, when really all it meant was serving him, his desires, without question. Then to her...Skye, the only light in my darkness. The girl I loved, and the girl who shot me as soon as I turned away from her. And now...it belongs to no one but myself. Which is a frightening prospect. I swallow nervously. Okay, Grant Ward. I tell myself firmly. Your mission is to make sure that Agent 33 stays sane and doesn't try and kill you. Because you need allies, and she's the only one willing to help you. She's the only one who might understand what it's like to see your master die. Brainwashed or not, anyway you put it, Agent 33 and I are the same. Both pathetic dogs, lost without an owner.

________________________________________

We plot a route out on the map, drawing a crude line with a pencil she found in the car. 33 points out that we're going to have to careful.

"What if they find us?" It doesn't take a genius to understand she's talking about S.H.I.E.L.D. Instead of answering, I go on with the plan.

"Here's the plan." I tell her. "I'll walk in, get the supplies, get to the car, we'll drive to the nearest mall and pick up more essentials."

"Got it." 33 nods. "Seems simple."

"And if we run into anyone..." I emphasize anyone so she'll understand I mean the ones who will not be named.

"What do we do, Ward?" She asks quietly. "Fight? Or run?"

"Run." I decide firmly. "Run as fast as you can, in the opposite direction. Do not engage them, not even if they engage you. Just get out of there and run, okay?"

"Understood." She nods.

________________________________________

* * *

 

Our supply run goes off without incident. I slip in and out of the train station, picking up the backpack loaded with money, weapons and passports. We bring it back to our cabin in the mountains, after refilling our car and buying a few clothing items and canned food. I sort out the supplies on the bed, having changed into a fresh shirt and jeans. The clean clothes are a blessing after what I've been forced to wear recently. Under my shirt, my wound is covered in gauze and bandages, and hasn't leaked for the first time in days. 33 prises open a can of fruit salad with a fork expertly and starts to stab at the fruit with the fork, eating it delicately. She licks up the juices enthusiastically, her eyes briefly closing as she savours the crisp fruity taste.

"So, what's our next move, Ward?" She asks, chewing on a melon slice. She swallows it visibly, licking the fork clean. "Well, we need to keep moving, so maybe a safe house?" I suggest. 33 sighs.

"I have...an idea." She suggests tentatively. I look at her, immediately realising that she feels uncertain about if she's allows to voice her opinion. I try to smile reassuringly. (She reminds me of what I might have become, if someone had tried to save me from my hell, like I'm doing with 33).

"What is it?" I ask her, keeping my voice light. It's a lot of hard work, helping 33, but it keeps me from worrying about my own problems. And anyway, it's almost like my own personal form of redemption. But not for anyone else. Just for my own benefit. (Definitely not for you anymore Skye).

"Maybe if we get a good safe house, positioned in a key city, and make that our base?" She says, biting her bottom lip nervously. "Use it as a base of operations, for a few months."

"That...might actually work." I say slowly. "I could recover from my injury until we think of what we want to do next." 33 smiles brightly, pleased I liked her idea. But then her face falls suddenly, crumpling in on itself.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, concerned. (See, I'm not a complete robot, Skye!).

"My face." She whispers. "I can't go anywhere with my face." Her finger tips tip toe over the scarred flesh quietly. "They were all looking at me today, and I had a hood on. But they could see." She swallows, her disgust at her appearance clear for anyone to see. Impulsively, I lean over to her and pull her hair out of the ponytail. 33 blinks at me surprised as I flip some of her hair over the right side of her face, hiding her scar.

"We'll trim this piece of hair into a side fringe." I tell her. "If you wear your hair like this, people will just think it's a hair style. Plus, there's always sunglasses." I tease. 33 exhales gently, her fingers still on her scar, now covered by a hunk of her black hair.

"Thank you, Ward." She says softly. "Thanks."

"No problem." I shift, awkwardly. "We'll leave in the morning, okay?"

"Okay."


End file.
